


With Bells On

by Liquid_Lyrium



Series: Advent [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge (Good Omens), 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bells, Coming Untouched, Dress Up, Every Time a Bell Chimes an Angel Gets Its Wings, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Intimacy, M/M, Other, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, very minor angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21705403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/pseuds/Liquid_Lyrium
Summary: It had been a joke until it wasn't.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Advent [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561270
Comments: 54
Kudos: 254
Collections: Apple-bottom Jorts, Ixnael’s Recommendations





	With Bells On

Sleigh bells sang out rhythmically through the air, as if searching for the right cadence to a carol. Silver clappers jangling in something like a half remembered tune.

***

It had been a joke until it wasn't.

Crowley had sauntered through the front door of the bookshop. A 'bookshop' that—at the last year to date count—had sold three tomes, yet still remained in business.

The package under his arm was sleek and unassuming. Aziraphale noted the demon looking far too pleased with himself. One or both of them flicked their wrist and the store's sign flipped over to ‘closed’ and the door firmly locked itself. There hadn’t been a customer in hours.

Crowley slouched down on the couch, setting the box, black paper and silver bow immaculate, onto an ancient sea chest that served as a coffee table. Aziraphale raised a brow at the package as he sat across from the other in his chair, but Crowley made no mention of it. He immediately quizzed Aziraphale about his day instead. There had been a grand total of a dozen potential customers in today, and Aziraphale regaled Crowley in the spirited telling of how he'd narrowly saved his autographed copy of _Ulysses_ from being purchased by a determined rare book dealer on holiday from Canada. Every so often his gaze would land on the box, and then he would catch just the barest glimpse of Crowley’s grin as he dropped it each time he tore his eyes away from the present. There was no way it was anything other than intentional. They’d been sneaking glances at each other far too long. Crowley could smile at him undetected, if he wished. _He’s too good at what he does._ _Cagey, brilliant, beautiful, bloody tempting bastard._

Still, Aziraphale couldn’t give in that easily. He tried very hard to pretend that he’d barely noticed the box on the table, though it was curious that Crowley had not offered it. Gifts were something that had become more common after the End of Days turned into the Days that Kept on Going, but they were unremarkable, casual things. Simple things only wrapped in plausible deniability. Careless things like, _‘Oh I saw this and I thought of you.’_ Or, ‘ _Why, I just happened to notice your favorite cologne went on sale.'_

They kept each other company without waiting for years or decades to pass, but little else had changed. Except everything had changed. The quality and nature of their relationship was… it was the same unspoken thing it had always been. Only _more_. More intense. Everything was heavier. Deeper. Like walking up to the edge of a cliff, waiting to take the plunge, but daring the ground to make the first move. _You first. You first. You first._

It was maddening.

The box on the chest, wrapped and unoffered, sent a thrill through the angel. Still, he wouldn’t cave. He _wouldn’t_. Whatever game Crowley was playing, Aziraphale would hold strong, hold true.

He didn’t even last through half a bottle of wine before he broke like a cheap bonefolder.

“Alright, since it’s clear you want me to ask—what’s in the box?”

This caused the serpent no end of delight and he threw his head backwards with a gleeful cackle, “Ooh, thought it’d take you at least another half-hour to crack! Go on, open it then.” The demon sprawled over the arm of the sofa, throwing his elbow out carelessly and resting his cheek against his fist. This was different too. The way Crowley smiled more in his presence. Not that he didn’t do that before but… it was _more_. More brilliant. Lighter. Freer. Like the sun returning from its underworld prison each day. _I’m here. I’m here. I’m here._

The demon’s excitement was palpable. And it made Aziraphale just the slightest bit wary as Crowley kept his presumably unblinking eyes trained on him, needlessly pushing his glasses up his nose. The angel frowned, almost reconsidering.

“I’m guessing this doesn’t contain chocolates,” he let his fingers run over the sharp edges of the box. A human might have given themselves a fatal papercut.

“Not chocolates,” another shift, the barest wiggle of that spine somehow more interesting than the mystery of the container under his fingertips.

“Not wine either,” Aziraphale considered the size of the box. “No I don’t think it’s any sort of liquor, is it?”

Crowley groaned, “Now who’s teasing?” He shifted again, a simple, further wedge into the crease of the sofa, but it was endearing nonetheless.

Aziraphale lifted the box, surprised at its lightness. He heard a soft noise from within. A faint metallic jangle and something that almost sounded like marbles? Ball bearings? Something round on something smooth. Many somethings. He cocked his head at Crowley, whose grin only widened.

The angel finally pushed aside the silver bow and tore into paper that didn’t betray a single shred of white, even as the seams were peeled apart. A perfect box, also black, was underneath and the angel lifted the lid. His brows rose for just a moment before he gave into the fond smile twisting his lips, and he let out a soft huff through his nose. “Oh _really_ Crowley,” there was nothing of admonishment in his tone.

“Aww!” Crowley whined, thoroughly disappointed. “I thought I’d get more of a reaction than _that!”_

Inside the box was a tangle of black leather straps connected together by various buckles and rings. Only instead of the usual studs one might see on an… well one really couldn’t call it an ‘outfit,’ but there were sleigh bells along the harness. He spied a matching collar, also drenched in silver bells.

Aziraphale merely laughed and picked up the collar, giving it a little shake, delighted by the joke nonetheless. Crude and obvious as it was.

“You could at least _pretend_ to be scandalized,” Crowley huffed petulantly, utterly put out by the angel’s refusal to clutch his metaphorical and/or metaphysical pearls.

“My dear, if living in Soho next to purveyors of adult entertainment and toys for over a hundred years hadn’t inoculated me from a bit of shock at being unexpectedly presented with a leather harness, then five minutes in Madam Tracy’s head would have finished the job. And I cohabitated with her considerably longer than that.”

“Poor bastard,” Crowley murmured, and Aziraphale had the distinct sensation of eyes sweeping up his body. It should have been funny, but the way those long fingers on the back of the sofa curled into a fist kept him from laughing.

It had been a joke until it wasn’t.

“I’m-”

_“Don’t.”_

The word was sharp and heavy on the air. For a being who didn’t need to breathe, Aziraphale certainly felt like he was drowning. He hated the tremble in Crowley’s fist, the thin, pale press of his lips into a line. The way his glasses seemed to grow darker, more opaque. He had tried, and failed, so many times to broach the subject. To soothe, to try and soften the edges of that wound, and he’d been rejected every time. He could hear it in the tight muscles of Crowley’s throat. As if he’d screamed it. _Don’t comfort me! You were gone. That pain was real. It’s still real. Healing hurts. I don’t want to hurt right now._

Aziraphale gave his golden ring a single twist, and he swallowed the words again. _I’m here. I'm here._

The silence between them trembled. Fragile. Like a violin string plucked and waiting to still, waiting to break.

The angel had never wanted to breathe more in his life. The shadows in the room were deeper. The silence heavier. He’d never been more terrified to breathe in his life.

Then Crowley smiled, like he’d flipped a switch. His hand unclenched, but Aziraphale could still detect the faintest tremor there at the molecular level. Still, it felt a little safer to resume the ordinary task of breathing, and he gave his very best friend a shaky smile.

He placed the collar down on the chest in a chorus of sweet jingles. Crowley reached over and drew the harness out of the box, holding it up appraisingly, thoughtfully.

“Bet if you had thin walls this’d drive your neighbors crazy.”

Aziraphale chuckled, “That would depend on ones copulation habits, I suppose.”

The demon sketched an arc with his head, needlessly broadcasting the roll of his eyes, “‘Copulation habits’? You can just say ‘shag’ angel. Fuck’s sake, even calling it ‘sex’ is a step above ‘copulation habits.’”

“Shag habits?” Aziraphale lifted a brow, feeling infinitely rewarded when Crowley dissolved into the sort of undignified giggles that usually only presented themselves after three or five bottles of wine. Not really sure why, he leaned over and gave a flick to one of the bells on the harness still in Crowley’s grasp. A little thing with the very tip of his finger that set off a chain reaction of a dozen or so of the other bells he hadn’t touched.

His eyes were drawn to the almost imperceptible way Crowley’s fingers tightened around the leather. The smell of it suddenly overpowering and intoxicating. Soft and comforting.

“Probably look ridiculous,” Crowley said, as though trying to reason something out.

“It is rather… _festive_ ,” Aziraphale said, attempting to suppress a wicked smirk. Crowley laughed again, and the tension in his too-long, too-bendy spine melted away. The angel let out a breath, and felt himself shaking at the atomic level.

“Tis the season?” Crowley’s brow lifted over one dark lens and it was the angel’s turn to laugh instead. He reached for his half-finished glass of wine.

“Jingle all the way?” Aziraphale chortled along with Crowley who ceded his turn with a shake of his head. “Deck the halls?”

“Deck the balls, more like,” the demon muttered languidly around a far-too satisfied grin. Aziraphale wasn’t drunk enough to excuse laughing as hard as he did.

Crowley was still holding the harness.

Aziraphale drained the rest of his glass.

Tiny metal peals broke the silence as the demon lifted it ever so slightly. “Hmm, thought the bells were all over, looks like it’s mostly on the front.”

“Well, that’s hardly unexpected,” Aziraphale felt his smile falter a little, unsure of the words coming out of his mouth. Crowley’s brow lifted as slightly as the harness, prompting further explanation. “I rather suspect the makers of this object anticipated the wearer would spend most of their time on their back.”

The spread of Crowley’s teeth had never felt more dangerous. More inviting. “What an appalling lack of imagination, angel.”

Aziraphale just barely resisted the urge to put his hand to his chest. His corporation was awfully unruly today. His heart beat the tattoo of a hummingbird’s wings against his breast. _Oh my, excuse me, could you slow down please?_ His bird heart didn’t listen. It only beat faster at being acknowledged.

“Excuse me, could you just remind me which of us lives next to the supplier of pornographic materials again? I assure you my imagination is extremely robust in that sphere.”

Crowley’s smile was something soft, a little crinkle at the edges of his frames that caused the frantic, bird-heart in Aziraphale’s chest to skip a beat.

“Yeah?” It was easy, languid, but there was something at the edges of the word that lit the air like fairy lights. Set every hair on his body on end.

“Quite,” Aziraphale reached for the wine. Somehow it ended up cradled in his lap, instead of filling his glass. One hand wrapped around the bottle, tipped, but not so far as to threaten his trousers or his armchair.

The silence of the bookshop pressed against them like a cave. Thousands of books as heavy as the surface of the earth. Like the world was unable to breathe. Like the world wanted very badly to breathe. Like the world was terrified to breathe.

“Can you imagine me in this thing?”

It had been a joke until it wasn’t.

Crowley sounded like he was trying to go for lighthearted, for casual, for indifference, but it had strayed and missed the mark. It was just a little too serious for that, too heavy. The corners of his mouth seemed to slowly take on that weight.

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered. He cleared his throat and tried to strengthen his voice and it pitched too high, too light, too tight, “Just as you said.” He licked his lips and the whisper returned, “Ridiculous.” He couldn’t even keep the ghost of a smile on his face.

“Yeah, just picture the noise this thing must make,” Crowley said, as though trying to reason something out. “Bloody awful, real mood killer.”

The angel dutifully nodded, suddenly aware of his hand twisting around the neck of the bottle in his lap. “Oh yes,” he agreed breathlessly. He didn’t still his hand, his fingers gliding along smooth glass, “And you’d be so dreadfully cold, my dear. All that exposed skin and metal bits everywhere. Truly absurd.”

He fought a shudder as Crowley turned his wrist just so and the sound of bells clawed the air. “Yeah, I’d need someone like you to keep me warm, and I suspect this thing isn’t your style at all. If you even go in for that sort of thing. Mental.”

Aziraphale filled his lungs with air, and licked his lips.

It had been a joke until it wasn’t.

“Just imagine. The two of us. Fornicating. While you wear that ridiculous kit,” he opened his lips again, but there was no sound that followed. Neither inhale nor exhale. The awareness of his own body struck him like a meteor without warning. Oh _Lord_ , he was already throbbing and hard, erection trapped inside his trousers. Inside the briefs—the one piece he let be influenced by modern fashion innovation—there was a circle of damp. He didn’t know how it was possible given that the head of his cock burned like an ember.

He stared at Crowley, unmoving, and Crowley stared back. His eyes completely concealed. Just a few molecular trembles disturbing the air between them.

It had been a joke until it wasn’t.

Somehow, Crowley stood without moving a muscle, and with a snap he was naked, save for his black knee-highs and his sunglasses.

He held the harness out to Aziraphale, and the angel could hear the tiny vibrations of the bells from the trembles between the covalent bonds in that hand.

Their fingers had brushed, years ago, with a bit of leather passed between them. The harness couldn’t be more different, yet the feelings were the same, except _more._ Deeper. Heavier.

Aziraphale held the harness out, and swallowed as Crowley stepped into it, threaded his legs through first, and _oh_ that brought his Effort so close to Aziraphale's face he had to bite his lip to stave off the temptation to lick that leaking length from root to tip. With trembling hands and jangling bells, the angel helped Crowley thread his arms through the appropriate holes. He wet his lips and reached forward with two hands, one on either side of Crowley's thigh, reaching behind to fumble blindly with the buckle there. He stared unblinking into those sunglasses, suddenly grateful for their presence because seeing Crowley's eyes in this moment probably would have him undone on the spot. The intensity of that shielded gaze was still hot enough to scorch.

Every brush of his fingertips against the back of Crowley's thighs sent a shiver through him, and an answering chorus of sound from the bells. "Be easier if I turned around," Crowley breathed, not moving as Aziraphale tightened the strap and pushed the end of it back through the buckle.

"I'm sure it would be," Aziraphale agreed, moving on to the other thigh, every motion filled with reverence and wonder. He pulled the next strap tight, and he could feel the heat of Crowley’s Effort against the skin of his cheek and neck, but still he kept his gaze fixed on the other’s face. The tongue that peeked out from between those lips. Aziraphale moved his hands up, to the next buckle, adjusting the length of the next strap. He could have used a miracle to do all this, but how ungrateful would that be? Crowley had given him a _gift_ , he intended to savor it.

He finished with the buckles in the front, and he made a motion for Crowley to turn, just because he wanted to see how it looked in the back as well. Black leather framing windows of skin. Aziraphale’s mouth went dry, as he remembered Egypt and Rome and Greece at the sight of all his resplendent glory. Of a backless dress in the 1920s he’d only seen through photographs. He ran his thumb along the freckles at Crowley’s spine before dragging his fingers up to finish the last two buckles. One between the shoulders, and the other about his waist. Crowley turned around again, every motion telegraphed with sound. Aziraphale leaned forward, his lips so close to the jagged cliff-face of a hip bone, but he reached behind the demon for the sea chest and wrapped his hand around the collar.

“May I?” He asked softly, afraid he might break some sort of spell. Crowley nodded and, before Aziraphale could stand, he got down to his knees, hands nervously coming to rest on the angel’s thighs.

The angel of the Eastern Gate let out a shaky breath and laid the strap of leather against Crowley’s neck with a riot of jingles. This felt more intimate than the harness, than seeing Crowley fully nude and erect. They were supposed to be enemies, once upon a time. Yet here they were, with Crowley trusting him to loop a strap of leather around his neck. To trust Aziraphale not to thread the tongue of leather through the silver frame and pull and pull until it crushed his windpipe. He fed the metal prong through what seemed to be the right hole and he tucked the leather back beneath the buckle again. “Alright?” He asked, voice broken as if _he’d_ been wrecked and rogered within an inch of his life already.

Crowley nodded, the sound of it accompanied by that cacophony of tinkling bells, and the angel let out a shaky little laugh. He felt Crowley’s fingertips press a little tighter against his trousers.

They stared at one another. Crowley wet his bottom lip and then worried it against his teeth. Aziraphale twitched his hands, not sure where to go from here. They both seemed to be asking the same, unspoken question. _What now?_

Aziraphale’s heartbeat pounded in his head, filling the silence. Fast enough to go through an entire human lifetime’s worth of heartbeats in the lull. Finally, that lifetime later, he lifted a hand, let his thumb rest in a space three ribs down from Crowley’s nipple, the rest of his hand following after. Fingers filling those grooves that seemed made for him to grasp.

There was a little ripple of metal, and a soft whimper from Crowley. It was a delicious, intoxicating thought that his every movement, every beautiful response of his body would be betrayed.

“ _Please_ ,” Crowley’s voice was so small, not even a whisper. Had he ever heard this demon, unfailingly polite, _ever_ utter the word please? He didn’t think so. That wasn’t how Crowley asked for things. “ _Please fuck me."_

Aziraphale grabbed one of the straps at Crowley’s shoulder with the hand not pressed to his ribcage, and he _pulled_ , using far more strength than necessary to tug the other into his lap. For his part, Crowley didn’t seem to mind, if his strangled groan was anything to go by. The armchair wasn’t built for shenanigans like these, which meant it was perfect because Crowley had to press his legs so _tight_ against Aziraphale.

The harness was a good choice, as it left all the important bits exposed. He should have kept on teasing, should have drawn it out further, but hadn’t they been teasing each other for centuries now? He slipped two fingers under the strap at Crowley’s waist, setting a steadying hand at the base of the other’s spine. His other hand was nestled between Crowley’s cleft, fingers already wet and dripping with slick. Barely counted as a miracle. He wasn’t sure who whimpered as he traced around that tight ring of muscle. The way it fluttered at this touch made the cock trapped beneath cloth and Crowley twitch in answer.

“Are-”

 _“Do it,"_ Crowley hissed, hands anchoring themselves to Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“But-!”

Crowley let out a strangled, frustrated sound and reached up to pull off his glasses, chucking them aside as he glared down at his angel. The look was unmistakably clear.

_I’ve been waiting for this for over six thousand years, before I knew I was even waiting for this. I have been ready for this since the dawn of time, don’t you dare make me wait one minute more._

He pushed two fingers upward. Crowley's heat was warm and welcoming, like he'd always known it would be. Crowley’s moan was beautifully threaded by bells. Aziraphale drew the tiniest circles with the tip of his middle finger, taking in every flicker of emotion that passed over Crowley’s naked face. He let the relief settle just a bit before he started moving his fingers in earnest, trying to map Crowley from the inside. He let his other hand reach up and flick a bell on the harness, and his lover laughed, free and bright. Then Aziraphale used that finger to flick across a nipple and there was another cacophony of sound as his whole body buckled.

Aziraphale used his thumb to trace that nipple, hard and fascinating, fingers resting against the spaces between those too-many ribs, while his other hand went about the slow and enviable business of prying Crowley apart, unravelling him, making his molecules and bells shake thoroughly.

He kept at it long enough that he was suddenly aware that London had quieted outside. The bells were louder against the absence of sound. The city did not sleep, but it did have its moments of peace. He was suddenly aware of another sound as he moved his fingers up and down. A barely-there mantra of _pleasepleaseplease_ unfurling from Crowley’s throat. Like the first, tiny sprout of a seed breaking the soil. So small and vulnerable.

“Yes,” Aziraphale gasped, so hot and _aching_ for home. He wasn’t sure if Crowley heard him because that mantra became louder, until it was a choked-off sound as Aziraphale withdrew his hand.

He had a sudden lapful of boneless, bell-covered demon, which made it rather difficult to try and slip his trousers down, but Aziraphale was determined. With a singular focus only achievable by an immortal being. Crowley was absolutely useless. A writhing mess of trembling bells, arms thrown around his shoulders for dear life, musical metal pressed uncomfortably between them, and Aziraphale wouldn’t have it any other way.

Somehow, despite all this, Aziraphale managed to shuffle everything down to his knees, to slick his aching, already drenched prick. That ceaseless mantra threatened to undo him, and he used one of the straps at Crowley’s thigh to guide the other into position. He bit his lip and tried not to black out as he slid the very tip of his cock into that tight, wet hole that squeezed around him, welcomed him in.

 _“Fuck,”_ he said the word reverently, eyes closed, head tossed back against the soft back of his chair, and from the rolling bells and shudder in his arms, he inferred that Crowley was equally affected. Or maybe it was just his usually-clean lips deigning to curse. He grabbed Crowley’s hip and helped him slide all the way down, until there was no possible way their corporeal forms could be any closer.

He wanted to savor it, to stay there forever, but Crowley—damn him—squeezed again and Aziraphale let out a little choked-off cry. His hips started moving of their own accord, one hand reaching up to grasp the back of the harness for leverage. His hereditary-enemy-turned-lover lifted his hips, and Aziraphale held him at the perfect angle once they worked out how to wring the most noise out of Crowley. The bells rebelled against every thrust in perfect time, just like his heart tried to pound its way out of his chest.

He reached blindly between them, searching for that lovely cock, but Crowley's hand shot out and grabbed him, pulling upwards. Until he pressed searing, hellfire lips against the delicate skin of Aziraphale's inner wrist. An epiphany exploded behind Aziraphale's eyes, and the angel laughed dizzily. He pressed his lips to Crowley’s chest.

Of course. Of _course_ they had somehow skipped straight to fucking and bypassed kissing entirely. It didn’t seem right now, at least not the kind his mouth burned for. He contented himself with kissing the spaces between the straps, for fisting a hand in Crowley’s hair to expose his neck. The collar sat right where his lips wanted to go, so Aziraphale laid kisses above it, on flesh more tender and vital and vulnerable. Below to the hollow of his throat. All of it punctuated by gasps and the symphony of those bells.

He wasn’t sure if it was hours, days, or minutes, but Aziraphale felt the end coiling inside him. A tightness, a pressure, a wire waiting to snap. He wanted to keep going, could have used a miracle, tried to reach for the power to do so, but-

“Crowley,” Aziraphale croaked against leather and a collarbone, “Crowley I _can’t_ -” There were hands on either side of his jaw, and Crowley moved his head roughly into place, and then his lover’s mouth was on his, blistering hot, and Aziraphale bucked helplessly and moaned as his climax hit him. He felt an answering vibration through his lips as Crowley groaned through his own, warmth soaking through his vest. The sound of the bells followed them through the aftershocks, then turned into the quietest whispers of metal as they lay piled against each other, catching their breath.

After their breathing had evened out, Crowley trembled in his arms, laughter undercut with bells. Aziraphale made a questioning noise.

“Just… just thinking… First time I’ve ever been fucked by one of my schemes and liked it,” the demon pressed that ridiculous grin against his throat and Aziraphale laughed. “Sorry about the vest, I can-”

“Don’t,” Aziraphale startled them both with the ferocity of his answer, the bells telling as ever.

Crowley blinked slowly, “You, you mean it?” The flush scrawled across his face could have been from their exertions, but Aziraphale knew it wasn’t.

He smiled up at his very best friend, his hereditary enemy, the love of his life, “I’ll always know that it’s there. I rather feel like I ought to frame it and put it on display, isn’t that odd?”

“Yes!” Crowley groaned, hands coming up to cover his face. “Good G- _Someone,_ angel, it’s not a museum piece!”

“Oh I don’t know. Isn’t _someone_ always telling me I’m dressed for the wrong century? I’m sure it has some historical value by now,” Aziraphale smiled oh-so-sweetly as his lover writhed in a thousand degrees of embarrassment in his lap.

“You have a weird sense of sentimentality, for the record.” Crowley wrinkled his nose.

“Hm, I suppose I do. In fact, I was just wondering if it would be possible to rekindle some other memories. Like that lovely ballet we saw in 1948. I do wonder if I could play Ravel’s _Boléro_ on you,” Aziraphale grinned wickedly and flicked the nearest bell he could find.

Crowley laughed, a shaking of bells and shoulders, and he kissed Aziraphale again on the mouth in a resounding answer of _yes, and if you can’t we’ll miracle the tones of these bells around until you can_.

**Author's Note:**

> *throws confetti* Finally! I have written smut for these two!  
> A day late but eh, here's the sleigh bells prompt!
> 
> Big thanks to The Ineffable Temptations Discord. I want to thank HedonistWorm, TrekBec, sexy legged fish, and Phoenix_of_Athena for all putting their eyeballs on this and making sure it was something presentable before I just dumped it onto the internet in a post-draft fuge 
> 
> I got nothing for the cranberry prompt folks, but I will be backtracking and finishing one for _fire._
> 
> Also here's the [tumblr post version finally](https://liquidlyrium.tumblr.com/post/189539938565/with-bells-on)


End file.
